One mother's attempt to grab life by the short and curlies following divorce. The aim is to maximise optimism and minimise cynicism - whilst being aided and abetted by two amazing sons, some great friends and possibly a thimble or two of wine. Admittedly, these are rather lofty aims...

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Cock-a-doodle-doo

So I had a revelation this morning. It appears to have slipped my memory exactly how this could have happened (but there really is no other rational explanation) - at some point approximately 6 years ago and then again 2 years later I had sex with a rooster. Must have been all that keeping-my-eyes-closed-in-the-moment and fantasising about Russell Crowe that did it. Somehow a rooster took that opportunity to break into our house, creep into my bedroom, switch places with my husband and fertilise my waiting egg...

How else can you explain the fact that I have given birth to, not one, but two children who automatically wake and start their day (usually just as noisily as a cockeral but mostly louder) at 5am?

Of course when son 1 was a baby I, somewhat naively it turns out, thought it was just a phase. A baby phase. This will pass I confidently told myself - whilst I diligently read every sleep manual and instruction book I could lay my hands on and became known in local circles as the Nap Nazi.

It's now 5 years and countless early, early mornings later and the only thing that has changed is that I now get my alarm call in stereo rather than mono. Not progress. And hardly a phase.

I have, of course, tried a variety of recommended solutions and (with the assistance of a very helpful sleep clinic) spent a fairly large amount of cash, trying to reclaim that extra hour in the morning that is proving to be essential in my survival as a fairly sane human being. I have cupboards full of 'sleep rules', reward charts, homeopathic remedies, supernanny style incentive gimmicks (including medals, little fake 'winner' cups and even a set of jacks to collect) and of course stickers galore. I have used a combination of stairgates strategically placed in bedroom doorways, removed light bulbs from bedrooms and worn ear plugs. I have bought the recommended Bunny clock and altered the time of every clock in the house. But to no avail. These budding little roosters of mine are stubbornly refusing to even try to re-educate their circadian rhythm (told you I was an expert) and I know there is only one solution left that I have yet to try.

Re-educate mine.

I am, quite frankly, a little frustrated but also impressed with my body's continued and stubborn reluctance to spring to life at 5am. You would think, after 5+ years of being woken at this time that I would have adjusted by now and be taking the opportunity to greet the sunrise each day with some meditation or maybe a little yoga. Take some time to create a positive mindset for the day maybe. For goodness sake, I could spend that extra hour just devouring the books that I am too tired to read for more than 10 minutes at night.

But no. It appears that my circadian rhythm is just as stubborn as my sons - and despite all encouragement from whatever side of my brain is Ms. Logic, is clinging on to the intention of an extra hour of shut eye with 100% commitment.

Odd really. Because before kids I would have labeled myself a morning person. Was frequently at the gym by 6.30am before work. Never lay-in beyond 9am at the weekend because I didn't want to 'waste the day'. What was I thinking??? Wasting all those potentially precious sleeping hours with waking hours? This is obviously someone's hilarious idea of payback time.

Oh well. On the bright side at least I can never complain of not having enough time to get them both ready for school in the morning. And, as my sleep clinic advisor so kindly pointed out, these kids could be earning fortunes as early morning dj's/TV presenters in the years to come...

9 comments:

Morning! Think of all those jobs with odd hours they'll be perfect for; they'll have no problem answering their bleep at 5am for the emergency heart bypass they're carrying out ;)Fab to see you blogging :)

Brilliant sweetie. What a great start to your life as a serial blogger......ooh maybe you've found an outlet for all your written ideas.Although, possible not the one that I read when last at your house.xx

Ooo hello! A new blogger.Welcome welcome and and the same time, oh god I'm really sorry!5am is still the middle of the night. did you not put that in a memo when you had the children. They need to know these things!

I'm that really annoying mother whose kids have always done the 7 til 7 thing.They wreck my house and shred my nerves, but at least I get a bloody good night's sleep!

Having read Tara's comment, I'm going to align myself with her. My daughter is also a 7 to 7 and like Tara's children, she also does a really good job at wrecking the place. But the upside of it is that I get peace and quiet from 7pm-ish, or rather once I've put every Barbie, every gel-pen and every puzzle away, then I get to sit down and breathe.And then it's a good night's sleep for us both.

Oh God - I am surrounded by mums in real life who's kids do the 7-7 thing....and now in my new virtual world too?? Aarrrghhh! Yes Tara, the pre-motherhood memo quite clearly stipulated a 7am morning call AT THE VERY EARLIEST and has been re-issued at regular intervals (hourly) ever since. I have used a variety of communication techniques. It has been written in big bold markers, sometimes decorated with stars, a couple of times written in braille, been brought to life in a colourful collage, been role-played, played as a subconscious tape while they are sleeping and even written in blood (mine, not theirs. Maybe that was where i was going wrong?)

Anyway, I am so thrilled to have comments - particularly from bloggers that I so admire. Thank you! (Off to do my little happy dance now.)

Laura - have just read your hilarious post. Cannot quite get past the image of you diligently going to all that trouble in your BIG knickers! I miss my big knickers. When and why did I get rid of my big knickers? I miss them.